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Raindrops like teeth, the enamel of god.


Raindrops like teeth, the enamel of god. A horse of lightning. A tractor of thunder. The muddied boots of the children, waiting forlornly by the front door. A wet winter, here to move water back to the earth, and back to the ocean. You can cry or laugh or find a drum to pound. You can catch a bus to Dayton or Tulsa. This isn't fate. This isn't preordained. If I were foolish enough to make predictions or claims I would tell you of dark-haired, dark-eyed girls dancing to gypsy music. I would say that the government is lying about the shape of the world, lying about the dreams that wake you with a shudder, lying about everything. I am living now in the silence of things, sleeping in the dusty corners. Accept the finality of the human experience. Raindrops like teeth, the enamel of a god; I am a being of light, and I refuse to answer to anyone. 

James Lee Jobe     
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